Chill airs, and wintry winds! my ear HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS OF BETHLEHEM, AT THE CONSECRATION OF PULASKI'S BANNER. WHEN the dying flame of day Where, before the altar, hung Had been consecrated there. And the nun's sweet hymn was heard the while, Sung low in the dim, mysterious aisle. Take thy banner! May it wave Take thy banner! and, beneath Guard it! - till our homes are free! Guard it! God will prosper thee! In the dark and trying hour, In the breaking forth of power, His right hand will shield thee then. Take thy banner! But when night If the vanquished warrior bow, Spare him! by our holy vow, By our prayers and many tears, Spare him! he our love hath shared! Spare him! as thou wouldst be spared! Take thy banner! — and if e'er Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier, And the muffled drum should beat To the tread of mournful feet, Then this crimson flag shall be And the warrior took that banner proud, SUNRISE ON THE HILLS. I STOOD Upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch Was glorious with the sun's returning march, And woods were brightened, and soft gales Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales. The clouds were far beneath me;— bathed in light, They gathered mid-way round the wooded height, And, in their fading glory, shone Like hosts in battle overthrown, As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance, Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance, |